


The Trading Docks

by Dickeybbqpit



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dickeybbqpit/pseuds/Dickeybbqpit
Summary: Astra Shepard and Miranda Lawson enjoy their first date as a couple out in the public streets of Nos Astra.
Relationships: Miranda Lawson & Shepard, Miranda Lawson/Female Shepard
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	The Trading Docks

**17 July 2185, Thebes Trading Docks, Nos Astra/Illium**

"I have a surprise for you, Shepard,” I chimed, in as silvery a tone I could conjure, gliding through a stream of openings between the bustling trading dock crowd. A precious silver box clenched between my fingers the curious source of a strange uptempo thrum in my chest.

Beneath shadow and neon glow alike, an utter lack of new belongings on display, Astra poised coolly. Even casually composed, the ineffable impact of her fundamentally colorful nature magnetized interested glances and the occasional gawking of bystanders.

Perhaps they assumed the dark-haired mystery woman lurking on their perimeter bared a remarkable resemblance with the one and only, dead human SPECTRE. Or, perhaps, their intrigue instilled reason into the added smug purpose in my step. I could not say for sure.

As soon as I took note of the peculiar downwards turn at the corners of her mouth, they returned to insignificance. I carefully examined her boundless sparkling energy of intrigue, strangely wistful, drawn across the deck to a fretting, elderly salarian leaning purposefully over a kiosk and constantly referencing the reassuring opinion of the young asari beside him.

Dad, I heard her address him.

A brief gnawing in my chest evaporated the instant her attention snapped to me. Electric blue alight in a summery hue, she shrugged off the metal wall. Spotting the gleaming cube concealed in my hand, Astra exaggerated her genuine surprise, laid a palm atop center of her chest, and gasped, “Miranda Lawson, are you proposing to me? This is so sudden, I don't know what to say! Do I look camera-ready?”

I ground down on the inside of my cheek, pursing my lips, barely taming the smile yet again aching to creep its way across my face for Astra’s sake. I maintained the upper-hand, and scoffed, "Don’t get ahead of yourself. I have standards. Look."

“As you should." Shepard beamed, blindingly bright as the sun, and obediently complied with my wishes. Firm fingers outlined the Serrice Council logo, and awe swept across her expression. She spoke softly, “Oh my god, Lawson! Full definition projections, camera, and audio; more rapid upload and download times; improved scanning; all of the bells and whistles. It’s got everything! How much—? No, that's a rude question. This couldn't have been a small expense, and you really must have done some extensive digging.”

I shrugged. "I might have made a few calls, inquired after a buyer or two, threatened a few suppliers."

"Serrice Council always has these omni-tools on backorder. After our boss handed us all the standard Polaris I’d assumed that was an all encompassing no.” She jests, “Here I thought he didn’t care I’d eventually be forced to resort back to a life of crime.”

“‘Resort back to,’ Shepard? Please,” I tutted dismissively earning a soft chuckle I became interested in learning how to hear again. The pulse in my face thrummed and vibrated out at a pace to rival Normandy's drive-core emissions. So foolishly filled with fumbling jitters, I forced them down and confessed, “This was a personal expense, Astra. My personal expense.”

Purely gentle lines engulfed Astra’s expression. Gingerly testing the bounds of these new parameters we’d worked around for ourselves, she slipped her empty fingers into mine, and tugged me closer until the world fell hypnotically warm and distortedly silent. “Thank you, Miranda. Really. I've-"

"Always wanted one?” I finish. “I recall. Your initial requisition order for the Illusive Man could best be described as ‘nearing excess corporate greed.’”

Astra puffed her chest in justification and squeezed my hand conspiratorially. "Maybe a little extravagant, but come on, he thinks he can buy my love. Why not milk the system for what you can?"

We skirted around a pair of bickering asari near the boulevard overhang, and made our way back in the direction we’d come from. Each trading bay we passed remained cyclically filled to the brim with merchants and stock traders. Skyscrapers shrouded remaining sunlight and rising twilight to the east, sunset appraoched visibly in the west , blinding from the horizon onward. Humid heat of day still clung with a vice to the air like the sap of a tree.

I forced a disingenuous glower against what felt like emanating eternal sunshine. "You understand part of my job description is remaining a responsible and honest intermediary between your operation’s needs and our employer’s financial backers, yes? Although I will confess, Cerberus has been quite the benevolent benefactor for this particular expedition. Sparing few expenses.” I smiled. “Lucky you.”

"Right?" Astra enthused. "I bet we could send in some ridiculous, lucrative requests so long as we make them sound reasonable. Just to keep our friends in the requisition department on their toes.”

Shepard gestured with our joined hands, swung all along our walk, to a little table at the viewing cafe, offered me a chair, and placed herself in the seat beside me with both our backs against the wall. A waitress swooped by to take our order, and we indulged ourselves in gossip espionage, trading scandalized expressions over trivial nothings.

"You mean like inconspicuously slipping in a fools errand or two on our list of updated needs? Pretty sure I can manage that." I tapped into my omni-tool, and pulled up the month’s requisition form. "And for our first order of business: the crew require more recreational activities during off hours, please send one inflatable dart board—convenient for storage purposes."

Shepard coughed into her glass of water, choking hard enough to force my hand. "Okay, how about this? Thermal canteens prove inefficient for ground-side missions . . . requesting ten cases of dehydrated water tablets."

"R&D will have a field day. Hmm. We've had a plumbing issue. Maintenance needs to repair pipes," I joked, leaning sideways into her shoulder so she could make a adjustments on my interface. "Please send three yards of Fallopian tubing."

"Disgusting. Out of character. They’ll never believe this was you," she teased. With one arm draped across the back of my chair, she tapped into my omni-tool with the other. "I guess they'll also need some reversible drills."

"Maybe a long stand," I suggested.

"Rubber nails. For safety."

"Might as well ask for a few glass hammers while we're at it."

"Please send this in, Miss Lawson. You'll be my best friend forever, and I'll always pick you first for my biotiball team," she promised, offering up her pinky. 

I sunk further into her side, soaking up the charming delusion of normalcy, of a pair the same as anyone: relishing their first outing as a couple, delighting in newfound closeness, intoxicated by the mere presence of the person they’ve begun to fall for—without the weight of the galaxy on their shoulders. I faced her fully. I allowed myself this moment. I took in each raven curl of her long lashes surrounding a blue as piercing and pale as any fallen icicle, traced the crest of her nose down to cupid’s-bowed lips painted a midnight dark purple, and back again.

Lowly, I said, “If I’m not your first choice now, Shepard, then we may have a dilemma on our hands.”

Astra’s breath hitched against my face. Crisp and spiced by cinnamon. The bulb in her throat bounced as she swallowed. She vowed, “You’ll always be my first choice, Miranda.”

Not an ounce of insincerity. Earnest.

My chest twisted, and foolishly childish as the gesture felt, I wrung my smallest finger around her own. A stroke of melancholy tinged my thoughts even as I leaned to seal what little distance remained between us. “I can’t always be, but thank you. That means a lot.”

Then a shadow loomed over us. I glanced up into the classically timeless face of a human woman with pretty dark hair, high rounded cheekbones and stunningly olive eyes. She wore the latest summer romper. More casual than the common sundress but just as sophisticated. Relaxed enough for comfort in the sticky heat, but professionally suited. Confident. I got the distinct impression of a powerfully motivated woman.

Recognition and familiarity shone in the gaze she held only for Astra. ”Shepard? Holy crap! I thought you were dead.”


End file.
